Johnny Black, Soul Chaser: The Complete Series (Johnny Black, Soul Chaser Series)

by JJ Zep

  “Who says I absconded from Elysium, perhaps it was Hades!”

  “Blasphemy!” Numero said, “And in front of your wife too. Have you no shame, man?”

  “What if I can prove it to you?”

  “What, that you’re from the nether place? Ridiculous! You won’t wriggle out of your obligations that easily. But go ahead, do you damnedest. This should be good for a laugh, anyway!”

  “Fabius,” Olivia snapped, “I won’t have this dark magic conjured in my kitchen.”

  “Don’t fret, Livvie dearest, it’s all a hoax, your friend Numero just said so himself. Okay, here goes.” I rubbed my hands together and blew on them like the world’s worst magician.

  “Oh, Jitterbug,” I said, “Show yourself.” It became deathly quiet in the room. A curtain ruffled briefly and one of the candles fluttered in the breeze. Even the chanting and babbling from outside seemed to have died down.

  “You see,” Numero said, “Told you he was bluffing.”

  “Oh, Jitterbug. I know you’re there. I smelled your Montecristos in the bedroom, so you can quit hiding and show yourself.”

  “He’s conjuring a demon,” one of the bodyguards whispered.

  “Enough of this nonsense, Numero growled, “Seize him!”

  The guards began to move in my direction then stopped and stared at the kitchen table. The surface of the table seemed to be buckling and warping and then an impish face appeared. Jitterbug sat up as though waking from a long sleep, and looked straight at Numero. “Where the orgies at!” he said.

  XI

  “Gods below! Mars and Jupiter protect us!” one of the bodyguards shrieked, while the other simply ran from the room and kept going. Two of the slaves screamed and did likewise, while another fainted on the spot. Numero meanwhile sat staring straight ahead, eyes bulging and jaw dropped, seemingly unable to move, his face just inches from Jitterbug’s.

  “Unclean beast!” Olivia yelled. “Look what you’ve done to my table cloth.” She picked up a broom and took a swipe at Jitterbug.

  “Ipso on the attitude there lady,” the imp growled. “I’m doing a favor for you hubby, here.”

  “You observing me again, Jitterbug,” I said.

  “Just following orders.”

  “And how did I end up as a fishmonger when I was supposed to be a centurion?”

  “A simple mistake to make,” Jitterbug said.

  “Back to Hades with you, hellion!” Olivia shrieked and took another swing that barely missed.

  “You better scoot,” I said, “before Olivia here takes your head off with that broom.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Jitterbug. “Keep your wits about you Dexter, this broad looks like she’d steal the horn off a unicorn.”

  “Impudent oaf,” Olivia shouted. She swung the broom again, but Jitterbug had already faded back into the woodwork.

  “Husband,” Olivia said, “I’ll ask you not to bring centaurs and the like into this household.” She turned towards Numero who was still staring straight ahead, a dazed expression on his face. “Citizen,” she said, “A thousand apologies for my husband’s coarse behavior. I hope you won’t hold this against us.”

  “No, not at all,” Numero mumbled. “Think nothing of it. Pay me when you can, brother Negritis.” He got slowly to his feet. “Right, I must away. Good evening to you all.”

  Negritis stumbled from the room in a haze, supported by his remaining bodyguard. He was passed in the doorway by a Roman soldier in armor, a helmet with a red, feathered crest, and a red cloak.

  “Are you Negritis, the fishmonger?” he said.

  “I am.”

  “You’d better come with us. His honor, Mark Antony wants to see you.”

  I was marched outside where a detachment of soldiers waited to escort me. The crowd had swelled to hundreds of people, most of them now carrying candles to ward off the darkness.

  “Negritis! Negritis! Negritis!” the cry went up the minute they saw me.

  “Silence!” the soldier commanded but he was simply shouted down by the crowd, who now surged forward.

  “Control your mob,” the soldier shouted in my ear. “Or there will be blood.”

  I raised my arms and the crowd immediately became silent. Some of those in the front even fell to their knees. They seemed to take a collective breath and hold it, waiting for some pearl of wisdom to be imparted by the man they considered a god. I, of course, had no idea of what to say to them, so I just blurted out the first thing that came into my mind. Something I remembered from my high school English Lit classes.

  “To be, or not to be, that is the question. Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take up arms against a sea of trouble. And by opposing them to die, and sleep no more. And by sleep, to say we end the heartache, and the thousand shocks that flesh is heir to.”

  The silence persisted for a moment and then someone said from the darkness. “What does that mean exactly?”

  “Silence you fool! You dare to question the wisdom of the immortals?”

  “Well, I’m sorry but it made no sense to me at all.”

  “I though it was profound myself. Enigmatic even.”

  “All hail, Negritis!”

  “Right you plebian, scum!” the soldier said, “You’ve heard your fish god. Now go back to your homes, the lot of you. I, Marcus Flaminicus, second spear centurion, under orders from his honor Mark Antony, am taking this man into custody. Anyone causing trouble will find themselves at the sharp end of a sword.”

  Once again it felt silent, but if I expected trouble from my newfound followers, there was none.

  “Right I’m off then,” someone said.

  “Me too, who ever heard of a fishmonger god?”

  “Heard the injury he got in the arena was hardly a scratch, anyway.”

  “To be or not to be, sounds like the man can’t make up his mind.”

  As quickly as they had formed, the crowd dispersed, and I was left standing in the street with Flaminicus and his detachment.

  “Marcus Flaminicus,” I said, “Aren’t you the bodyguard of General Bacchus?”

  “The traitor Bacchus has been taken into custody,” Flaminicus said. “But enough of the idle chatter. Antony does not like to be kept waiting.”

  XII

  “So you’re the fishmonger god,” Mark Antony said. He was a handsome, dark-haired man with darting black eyes.

  “Not a god, sire, merely a man.”

  “That’s not what I hear,” Antony said. “I hear you can fire thunderbolts from your ass, and impregnate a women merely by looking at her.”

  “Quite untrue, I assure you.”

  “I also hear you’re immortal. That you survived a Nubian lance and drowning in the Tiber.”

  “It was a javelin, and it barely grazed me. As for drowning, I’m an excellent swimmer. I swam backstroke for my collegium.”

  “Most disappointing,” Antony said. “You’re of no use to me then.” He turned to Marcus Flaminicus, “Cut his throat and dump him in the sewers.”

  “On the other hand,” I said. “You may want to have your physician examine the wound. It causes me very little pain but a doctor told me it pierced my liver and should have killed me.”

  “Really? Most interesting. But why waste time with a physician. Why don’t I just run you through right now and see if you survive.” He unsheathed his sword and started towards me.

  “I think that would be unwise, sire.”

  “Oh you do, do you? And why is that?”

  “Let’s say, I am a god…”

  “Yes…”

  “Well, it would be unwise to skewer a god, don’t you think?”

  “Impudent pleb!” Antony said. “I ought to…” He raised his sword, then seemed to think better of it. “Still, why take the risk, hey.” He sheathed the sword then shouted, “Fetch the doctor!”

  I was left standing while one of Antony’s men hustled off, eventually returning with
the doctor, a tall bearded man, in tow.

  “Unrobe him,” the doctor commanded and for the second time in a day I was left naked while a roomful of strangers looked on. The doctor circled me with his hand to his chin and a look of contemplation on his face.

  “In my educated opinion, dominus,” he said after a while, “this man is most definitely alive.”

  “Well, or course he’s alive,” Antony shouted. “What I want to know is, if he’s immortal.”

  “Outside of the gods, there is no such thing as immortality,” the doctor assured him.

  “Did I ask you here for a lesson in theology? Examine him and tell me if that wound he carries should have killed him.”

  “As you wish,” the doctor sighed. He pointed me to a couch then knelt down to examine the wound.

  “No pus,” he said, “which is unusual, particularly given the crude stitch work. Who stitched this, a grain merchant?”

  He started prodding and pushing at the wound, “Does this hurt?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “And this?”

  “No.”

  “Most extraordinary.”

  “Well?” Antony demanded.

  “Just getting there, my lord,” the doctor said. He produced a small knife and I could feel the stitches being snipped. It tickled.

  “Most extraordinary,” the doctor repeated. More light here please.” One of the soldiers carried a torch over and held it close enough so that I could feel its heat on my skin.

  “My, my,” the doctor said as he prodded and explored the wound. “Quite a mess down here. Heavens, that’s not good.”

  Eventually he stood up and even in the dim light of the torches I could see that he looked pale and shaken. “A glass of wine if you please.”

  “Later, you old soak,” Antony barked. “What’s the verdict?”

  “The javelin entered the lower abdomen to the right with some force, pieced the liver, forcing it into the body cavity at the same time causing severe damage to other organs including the pancreas, kidneys and the stomach lining.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that this man should be in Elysium or Hades, not walking the streets of Rome.”

  “It’s a miracle!” Antony said.

  XIII

  After the doctor had been sent on his way with a warning to keep his mouth shut, Antony turned to me. “Negritis, old cock,” he said. “You must be tired and hungry. Here sit, what can we get you? Some stuffed songbirds? Dormouse perhaps, my chef does a particularly good dormouse. No? How about some wine?”

  “As the doctor said, that javelin damaged my stomach lining. It makes eating and drinking somewhat uncomfortable.”

  “I can see how it would do. We’ll need to get that seen to. And we will, right after?”

  “Right after?”

  “Here’s the thing, old boy. I have a wager with Brutus, ten thousand denari. But it’s not really about the money. Arrogant mommy’s boy has had the beating of me for too long.”

  “What kind of a wager?” I asked.

  “Silly really,” Antony giggled. “He has this brutish Germanic fighter that he’s always bragging about, trying to gain points with Caesar. So I challenged him to a fight, his man against my best in the arena for a thousand denari purse.”

  “And?”

  “He won.”

  “You said the bet was a thousand denari, I thought you said ten thousand.”

  “That was the initial stake. Then next time was two thousand, then three thousand… ”

  “So this ‘brutish Germanic fighter’…”

  “Germanicus, they call him.”

  “So this Germanicus has killed ten of your best men?”

  “Nine, the tenth will be you.”

  “Me? I’m not even a gladiator.”

  “But don’t you see? You don’t need to be a gladiator. You can’t lose.”

  “I can see a hundred different ways that I could lose.”

  “Think about it, even if he slices off your arms, even if he cuts off your legs or lopes off your head. You’re immortal!”

  “I’d just as soon keep my body parts in their current arrangement if it’s all the same to you.”

  “Sleep on it hey!” Antony said. “The fight’s not until tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow won’t work for me, market day on the Aventine, you see.”

  “Who’s this then?” a voice said and I looked up to see a woman standing in the doorway, a gorgeous woman with long, wavy blonde-hair.

  “Drusilla,” Antony said, “I though you were asleep, come on over and meet Negritis.”

  Drusilla walked towards us, in the light she was even more beautiful. “So, you’re the famous Fabius Negritis,” she said.

  “You’ve heard of me?”

  “They say you’re immortal.”

  “An exaggeration, I assure you.”

  “So what wicked scheme is my husband embroiling you in now?”

  “Negritis is to be our champion at the fights tomorrow,” Antony said.

  “He is? Wonderful! It’s about time someone wiped that smirk off Brutus’ face.”

  “Well I haven’t exactly agreed…”

  “Nonsense,” Antony said, “You’ll be our champion and there’s an end of it. But tonight you’ll stay and spend with us, nay?”

  XIV

  I was led to a luxuriously appointed room with patterned walls and a huge bed. A soldier pushed me through the doorway and then I heard the door being bolted behind me. There was a small window set into the wall and walked over and looked out. The room was on the second floor, but even if I could have jumped, it would have done me no good. There were sentries below the window, and I could see even more of them at the gate.

  I lay down on the bed and appraised my situation. I’d already used up one of the three days that Dope had given me to complete my mission and I was no nearer to tracking down Bacchus. Flaminicus had said Bacchus had been taken into custody, which was not a good thing either. If he was locked in a cell somewhere, how was I ever going to get close to him, let alone close enough to immerse him in water, so that I could jar him and transport him back to hell.

  And that was only the first of my problems. Tomorrow Antony intended throwing me into the arena with some barbarian called Germanicus who had already seen off nine of his best fighters. I was almost certain to lose one of my five lives.

  I’d also have a hard time carrying out my mission if all that was left of me was a disembodied head. I started to think back wistfully to my days in Chicago where the worst I could expect was a trip to the bottom of Lake Michigan or being cut down by a Tommy gun.

  With all of these things racing around in my head I didn’t expect to sleep much that night, but I did eventually nod off. I woke to the sound of the door being unbolted. It was still dark in the room and it felt like I’d barely closed my eyes.

  A figure glided swiftly across the floor and placed a hand over my mouth. “Scoot up,” Drusilla said, “I’m getting in with you.” She slid into the bed and cuddled up to me. “Well,” she demanded, “Are you going to kiss me or are you going to just lay there like an obelisk?”

  “But your husband?” I said.

  “Snoring like Cerberus,” she said. “I thought he’d never get to sleep.”

  “But still…”

  “Oh, an issue of morality is it? Well, let me tell you a thing or two about Mark Antony. He keeps several mistresses, including that bitch Atia, no slave girl is safe when he’s in the house and he still finds the time and energy to pay regular patronage to the city’s less salubrious brothels.”

  “But, I’m married too…”

  “Is your wife a good woman?”

  “A real bitch,” I confessed.

  “There, it’s done then. You will seed in me an immortal child.”

  “What?”

  “Well, you didn’t think this was about fun and games did you? Cesar will reign about ten more years, after which he’ll
name Octavian as his heir, despite what my foolish husband thinks. My child will succeed Octavian and as an immortal he’ll rule Rome for eternity. Come on then, get on with it.”

  Now I could have told Drusilla the truth, that I wasn’t immortal at all (at least not in the way she thought), and that I was extremely unlikely to seed a child in her, immortal or otherwise. But she seemed so keen, it would have been a pity to disappoint her. Besides, how often was I going to find myself in bed with the gorgeous wife of one of the most famous men in history.

  XV

  I woke with the pale light of morning skulking in through the window. Drusilla was gone and when I checked the door it was still bolted. The sentries were still on duty below the window, too, so there was no possibility of escape. I washed up in a basin and after a while Marcus Flaminicus came to fetch me and escorted me to breakfast.

  Antony and Drusilla were enjoying a hearty meal of fruit, bread, eggs, cheese and honey.

  “Here he is,” Antony said, when he saw me approaching, and Drusilla shot me a coy smile. “You up for the fight,” Antony said.

  “I guess,“ I replied.

  “That’s my boy. Give ‘em hell, hey.” When Antony wasn’t looking, Drusilla winked at me, pouted and rubbed her belly.

  After breakfast, Marcus Flamincus and his men escorted me to the Forum Romana. I was expecting some grand amphitheatre, like I’d seen in the movies, but instead the arena was a temporary wooden structure that housed only a few thousand people. The games were obviously popular though, because there was a good-sized crowd milling around outside and the ticket touts and bookies were doing good business.

  I was led to a cell under the stands from which I could see down a narrow passageway that ran to the sandy floor of the arena itself. A procession of men in togas now entered the ring and gathered in front of one of the stands. One of the men unfurled a scroll and read something out. The crowd fell silent until he was finished and then cheered and jeered in equal measure. Next, a brass band marched in, playing a fanfare to huge applause. Behind the band walked about a dozen youths in white tunics, each carrying a banner. Finally, in the procession, were two older men, one carrying an unraveled scroll, the other a palm branch.